In Sickness And In Health
by syntheticpoetry
Summary: Blaine gets sick at school, Kurt comforts him.


**Author's Note: Tumblr prompt response.**

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"Oh, stop your whining already, I'm coming over after school and that's settled," Kurt raised his voice slightly to make himself heard over Blaine's incessant moaning. Blaine jutted out his lower lip in an academy award winning pout, but Kurt refused to be swayed on the matter. "Look at you, you're a mess. Your hair's barely gelled, your bowtie is crooked, you're wearing stripes _and_ plaid," Kurt lowered his voice as he mentioned the blatantly obvious slight against fashion. "I don't even know how you made it out the front door to get here this morning!"

"Dad made me," Blaine glanced down briefly to see if his bowtie actually _was_ crooked. He sounded nasally and miserable and all he wanted to do was curl up into Kurt's side on his twin size bed, but it was only second period and, by the looks of it, the remainder of the day was going to drag on for an eternity.

"Well," Kurt placed a fist on his waist, jutting out his prominent hipbone with authority and sass. "I'm just going to have to take care of you later and that's that."

Blaine simpered, despite a sudden rush of nausea, and had to remind himself to stop leaning forward with intent to kiss Kurt. Only, Kurt frowned and Blaine kept leaning forward until he simply collapsed into Kurt's firm grip. "If you manage to even make it through the day. Maybe we should go see the nurse..." he trailed off, his expression exuding nothing but concern.

"Nah, m'okay. I'm just... just..." all of the colour drained from Blaine's face and he tore himself away from Kurt with such force that he spun on the spot for a moment, disorienting himself, before trying to navigate his way to the closest bathroom.

"Okay, honey, this way," Kurt enclosed his hands around Blaine's bicep and practically began to drag him to the boys' bathroom down the hall.

Neither of them had executed the fragile maneuver with enough haste though; Blaine clapped his hand over his mouth, but it did very little to stop the Cheerios mingled with stomach acid from escaping his stomach and taking residence all over his shirt and the floor. He moaned—partially in response to his already sore, overworking stomach muscles, but mostly in embarrassment—as Kurt murmured soothing words, still directing him towards the bathroom, and students cleared a path and gawked at them. He'd never felt so mortified in all of his life; this, hands down, beat "The Incident At The Gap," as he and Kurt referred to it, by a long shot.

"It's okay, almost there," Kurt rubbed circles into Blaine's back, but his attempts at distractions were futile; the damage was done and Blaine was beyond humiliated. When they finally made it into the bathroom Blaine immediately locked himself in one of the stalls. "Blaine, sweetie, let me help," Kurt frowned and placed a hand on the flimsy door.

"Just wait outside and make sure no one—" Blaine's plea was interrupted by the overwhelming necessity to gag, his stomach wrenching violently as it searched for more things to purge. He sank down to his knees, the dull thud echoing magnificently, and gripped the hem of his striped cardigan; he refused to put his hands anywhere near the filthy toilet seat.

"Blaine, come on, let me in there. Please?"

Blaine's stomach lurched, his heart fluttered wildly—in a panic—when Kurt pressed on the door and the metal lock jingled against the latch. "Just make sure no one comes in!" He rushed through the words with frenzied urgency, unsure of how much time he had to get the syllables out between dry heaves.

"I'm not leaving you in here by yourself," Kurt resisted the urge to stamp his foot. "And you're not going to push me away because you feel embarrassed. So you got sick; news flash: it happens to all of us." Kurt paused and was met with subtle, stifled, gasps as Blaine shifted around on the tiled floor. "Now, you're not really going to make me crawl under there, are you? Because I will."

After a few more seconds Blaine's only response to Kurt's tirade was still the same: soft moans mingled with the occasional gagging. As Kurt began to kneel down in order to slide himself under the stall he heard a sudden _click!_ and the door fell open to reveal his miserable boyfriend hunched over awkwardly, his skin so white it left no evidence for anyone to even attempt to decipher his ethnic background. Kurt wasted no time in stepping into the stall and then shutting the door behind himself. He sat behind Blaine, knees parted, and pulled the smaller, trembling figure back against his chest; Blaine did nothing to resist, he simply gave in to Kurt's strong arms and even stronger heart.

"There," Kurt pressed a kiss to the top of his head and began rubbing Blaine's stomach gently. "Still feeling nauseous?"

"A little," Blaine's tone matched the tension in every muscle of his body. He'd made the mistake, once, in his early days of learning, of winding a guitar string too tightly; it snapped and the stray wire had caught him in the face, leaving a miniscule scar as a reminder to never do it again. He felt like that now: pulled too taught and on the verge of splitting, right at the very seams.

"Think you can stand up?" Kurt moved his lips to Blaine's nape, gracing it with a gentle and loving kiss; his hands worked their own magic on Blaine's sides. He shifted himself closer to Blaine, but Blaine mistook the gesture as an attempt to move them off of the ground and responded with an alarmed, "Nononono, don't make me—" before balling up his fists and gulping down another dry heave.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Kurt quickly stilled himself, his own stomach freefalling guiltily. Blaine sucked in a few nervous gasps, his knuckles whitening, palms sore, and head swimming—he'd have given anything to be anywhere but here: stuck in a bathroom stall at school, with Kurt bearing witness to his vulnerability. The entire ordeal made him feel so raw and exposed that he wanted to hide his face and will his body to disintegrate into the musty air surrounding them.

"Relax," Kurt tentatively slid his hands over Blaine's, trying to massage away the painful rigidity. "Baby, you'll hurt yourself. Relax, it's okay."

It took a moment, but Blaine could finally feel the effects of Kurt's nimble fingers. Slowly, his fists came became unclenched, the tightness dispelling as he let himself melt into touch of this stubborn human being who had—sometime in the past few months—become his anchor; he was glad Kurt refused to listen when he demanded to be left alone.

"Better?" Kurt noticed Blaine's gradual shift towards tranquility and allowed himself to be a touch bolder in his movements, praying Blaine's stomach had finally settled. Blaine met his words with a brief nod and closed his eyes, leaning his head back onto Kurt's shoulder. "I'm taking you home, come on I'll help you up."

After some careful maneuvering they had found themselves on their feet, Kurt clinging to Blaine's languish form, too paranoid to let go in fear Blaine would fall over. "Still going to try to fight me on it?"

"Take care of me and make me soup and just hold me and—" Blaine mumbled, impeccably adorable even in his self-conscious desperation.

Kurt pressed a kiss to Blaine's forehead; "You don't have to tell me twice."


End file.
